Stay close

Hafez, the mystical poet of Shiraz, emerges from the tapestry of Persian literature like a sunbeam piercing through ancient cypress trees. His life, shrouded in poetic mystery, unfolded in the 14th century—a time when the world was both turbulent and tender.

Imagine him—a man with ink-stained fingers, sitting cross-legged in a fragrant garden. His eyes, deep as the night sky, held secrets whispered by the wind. Born as Khwaje Shams al-Dīn Moḥammad Ḥāfeẓ-e Shīrāzī, he became simply Hafez—the memorizer, the keeper of verses.

Hafez’s education was steeped in the Quran; he knew its verses by heart. But his soul craved more—a dance with the divine, a sip from the cup of mysticism. He wandered the alleys of Shiraz, his footsteps echoing in the courtyards of love and longing.

Hafez isn’t talking about mere existence. No, he’s inviting us to feel the pulse of life—to be alive. Imagine it: the sun on your face, laughter bubbling up, dew-kissed mornings. These are the threads that weave aliveness into our days.

Hafez beckons us to tether ourselves to joy. It’s not about grand achievements or glittering treasures. It’s in the small wonders: a child’s laughter, a favorite song, the scent of rain-soaked earth. These are the compass points to aliveness.

Imagine joy as a lover. Hafez says, “Stay close.” Dance with it, twirl in its arms. Whether it’s a beloved friend, a sunflower, or the moon’s silver glow—hold it close. Let it whisper, “You’re alive, my dear.”

Hafez defies the mundane. He says, “Don’t settle for gray days.” Seek the hues that ignite your soul. If it’s poetry, read it. If it’s starlight, gaze. If it’s chocolate, savor. Aliveness is a rebellion against mediocrity.